Mayhem of the Mind
by Pineapple Whimsy
Summary: "So much for being the almighty Izaya Orihara , eh?" he says this at a reasonable volume, but for some reason it echoes loudly in my head. "Well, this proves it. You're just a normal guy. Just like all the rest of us."-Shizaya. Oneshot.


**Whoa, okay. What's this. What. I was sort of WRITING SOMETHING ELSE, BUT LIKE.**  
**I don't even know how **_**this **_**happened. Shenanigans, bro. ..**  
**This is the most explicit thing **_**I've**_** ever written, which, well...Hm. /shrug**  
**This turned into a weird Shizaya encounter...what...I don't even know what this is. Go easy on me, bro. :(**  
**Also, if you get the reference. xDDD Awesome, mannn, fucking fabulous. I'm proud of you. Legitimately~**  
**Well, enough of me, have this weird crack induced shit I wrote. Enjoy 3**

* * *

A little girl trips and falls.

A little boy, who happens to be walking by, sees her and decides to be a hero. He helps her up, dusts off her pink dress and starts blabbering.

I can tell you right now that this little boy will escort this little girl over to a nearby ice cream cart, that he will treat her, and that she will act like the perfect little lady that she is, politely and demurely crossing and uncrossing her legs while giggling at his profoundly bad jokes.

I sit back on my heels, satisfied by my observations and predictions. I lower the binoculars and smirk, watching the two now-blurred figures running off to get ice cream.

I don't know why this interests me so.

Humans are so predictable, so easy to decipher.

It makes me feel powerful, like a rightful god taking my place over them. In the hierarchical fashion that the world follows, I am at the very top tier, the undisputed shadow leader. Nobody can deny this fact of life, and why would anyone want to do such a thing in the first place?

What's that? Arrogant, you call me? Impudent? These are adjectives that my teachers have called me since kindergarten, since I could speak fluently. I think I'm _better_ than everyone else, I think I'm more _privileged _than everyone else, etcetera, etcetera. I roll my eyes at my foolish subordinates, tempted to laugh. When I see that flash of fear glaze over their eyes, I know I've got them. They know, and I know. They will one day kiss my feet, praise me, wish to _be_ me.

My mother will rue the day that she tore apart my drawings, my father will regret all the times he slapped his master across the face. And I will laugh. I will laugh when I see them cower in fear, beg for forgiveness. And I will act appropriately.

Because I am their God. And I love my silly little humans.

Every last one of them.

Well. Not _all_of them.

But let's not talk about him for now. It makes my blood boil to think about that waste of perfectly good space.

I sniff the air, wishing I could smell all of them, all of their emotions and thoughts. I can feel the air lick my face, covering me in wet dryness.

All the colors, all the hues of reds and oranges and yellow, and all the sounds, the vibrations and the lovely thrumming and churning. This is what is means to be human. The blue tints, the strummed sadness, the plucked pity, the dry apathy and all the combinations in between.

It's interesting, isn't it? Every person is _unique_, a little bit different from the previous. But each is spectacularly the same, shockingly identical. Looking at humans in a linear manner, what really separates them?

The color of their skin? The language that they speak? The emotions that they feel?

No, no, the simultaneous uniqueness and the sameness that is exclusive to humans...that's something _we_created ourselves. Now isn't that great?

Isn't that...beautiful?

I look to see that my prediction has panned out; the girl is flirtatiously flipping her brown pigtails, and that the boy is now a tongue-tied dumbass.

I feel powerful, I feel in control. I know exactly who I am and what my role is. I know what I am. I am Izaya _fucking _Orihara, a God among the living.

Satisfied, I stand up from the bench and walk away.

It's starting to get late, so I should probably get home.

"Izaya-kuuuun~"

Oh shit. Well. So much for getting there peacefully.

Right. _This_asshole. The one we were going to ignore, right?

So much for that.

The only fucker in the entire fucking world who can't seem to understand that I am superior.

"Oh, hello there, Shizu-chan!" There's a strange ripple tearing through my chest, the one that I always get when I see this annoying brute get perturbed.

I derive sadistic pleasure from simply _pissing him the hell off_.

"I thought I told you," he says, leaning down to grab an _entire _fucking bush. "To _stay out _of Ike-bu-ku-roooo!"

_Wweh wweh, I'm Shizuo Heiwajima and I can't even pronounce the fucking name of my own city right. Because I apparently don't know proper Japanese._

He tosses the bush, just like I've known he would do since I heard him calling my name.

God, I hate him. He's so annoying, I mean, would you just _look_ at him? That annoying dyed hair, his _stupid fucking _annunciation, ugh, I mean, shit, I really hate this guy.

Every time I see him, I can't control myself. I must troll.

I must troll. I am troll.

And that is really all there is to say on the matter.

I dodge the bush easily, quietly lamenting over the abrupt ending of the shrub's life.

Poor plant didn't do anything wrong. I mean, seriously, it was just sitting there, maybe hoping to find another nice shrub and-

Wait.

What.

It occurs to me as I'm running up a wall that it's completely irrational and completely pathetic to actually care this deeply about the life of a plant.

Fuck, this is part of the reason I hate Shizu-chan so much. It's _because_he enrages me. His stupid shenanigans make me so mad that I can't focus, that I act irrationally. I can't be calm with him. I have to step down from my Godly role to handle his bullshit.

I find my mind wandering to Masaomi-kun, who I know is sitting quietly at home, waiting for me, thinking thoughts of divine nothingness.

With Masaomi Kida, it's fucking easy. I can control him, I can destroy him, and I can do so with a tranquil smirk on my face. I really love him. I can watch him be manipulated while he _knows _he's being manipulated. Like the multiple times I've lured him into bed with me.

Even with Mikado Ryugamine, well, honestly, he's not that fun because he's stupid, but he's _malleable_at the very least. But at least he's not a headstrong blonde-headed bull with temperament issues.

Even that hag, Namie, I can handle her.

But _this _guy. _Shizuo. _Who manipulates _me_. Who controls _me.  
_  
FUCK, I HATE HIS GUTS.

He hurls a stop sign at me and I smirk as though I'm having the time of my life. Because I know it pisses him off. A lot.

But really, this is sort of annoying.

Like, seriously, every single encounter requires a full blown fucking fight? What the hell is wrong with this guy's head?

A-fucking-_nnoying._ Just like _everything_Shizu-chan does. God, if I could just wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze...squeeze...

AH. God, I want to kill him myself, choking the life out of him and watching the color drain from his recalcitrant fucking face, watching him claw at my han-

FUCK HE JUST GOT ME WITH A TRASH CAN. GOD I HATE HIM.

I fall from my post on top of the building and land deftly on the ground. Because I'm fucking awesome.

He snarls at me and practically spits at me.

Huh. I can't help but smirk, my heart clenching and heating up with the promise of a fucking _good fight.  
_  
But for some reason, I can't stop staring at his throat, wishing to snake my hands around it.

Oh, God, I want. Do. Want.

And suddenly, something really fucking alarming is happening and I'm not noticing my perfect humans anymore. I can't smell the swirling palette of colors, can't feel the power coursing through my veins. Instead, I feel painstakingly human as I stumble back, mortified.

Because you see, dear reader, I, the Godly Motherfucking Izaya Orihara am suffering an _erection_at the thought of killing a blushing, gasping Shizu-chan.

And if that isn't the most fucked up thing you ever heard, then listen to this little nugget of information.

Shizuo is noticing. And I'm noticing something disgusting in him. _Lust.  
_  
Ew, that motherfucker. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate _hatehatehate _him.

Despise. Disgust. Contempt. Loathing.

These are the things my mind and heart say when I look at his stupid face.

But my body says something else entirely.

Well, really, it just screams incoherent sexual cries. How. Fucking. Terrible.

Maybe I should embrace this. What do you think?

Oh, why do I care? I'm your God, remember? I tell _you _what to do, not the other way around.

And so I will make my _own _decisions, thank you.

Fuck, well, I'm now _throbbing_down there, thankyouverymuch. So I can't fucking fight worth a damn.

And I am _not_about to beg Shizuo for sexual contact. So.

I run.

If he wants it, he can come get it. Although, I wish he wouldn't. But I wish he would.

FUCK. This is why I hate him. He makes me feel human, not very God-like. He keeps me guessing, not totally sure of what he'll do or say next. He's a volatile fucking time bomb.

And I hate him!

HATE THAT STUPID BARTENDER.

BUT DAMN. I WANT HIM.

Argh, this is really fucking frustrating. There is absolutely nothing more embarrassing than running through the streets cupping your crotch while trying to outrun your arch nemesis.

Nothing. You hear me?

Fuck, now I'm backed up in an alley.

And he's right there, dropping the obnoxiously yellow yield sign. Then I can hear his heavy breath, see his stupid ugly flushed cheeks.

Does anyone else think he looks like a garden gnome? Anyone?

And he's on me in a _fucking_second, grabbing a fistful of my hair and shoving his gross tongue down my throat.

Fuuuuck, I hate...

Fuck, he's good at this. Why's he so good at this. Why.

Fucking. Why.

To be honest, there have been a few times when it's come pretty close to this.

But I usually have the good sense to control my body. To maintain myself, to know my place.

Right now, though, in the midst of a sloppy makeout session, I can't help myself. I grind against him, begging for attention.

I hate this asshole. So much. I hope he dies in a hole.

_After_he fucks me, of course.

Shizuo slips his hand down into my pants, past the tight elastic band of my boxers. I can feel his lips curl into a smile, and that annoys me, too.

Asshole.

"Thought you...hated me, Shizu-chan?" I panted, trying to control at least my voice. Hopefully this will piss him off. This earns a forceful jerk from his right hand.

He smiles at me wryly, unforgivingly. "Oh, I definitely hate you."

"Then what's this?" I ask, cursing at my cracking voice. I soon realize that he's gonna win this round.

"Oh, well, are you trying to say that you like me? I mean, you _are_the one that got a hard on."

"Tch. Watch your-ah, nng, watch your fucking _mouth_," I can barely stop from screaming, because he reacts in a way that matches my words. I get angry and he strokes harder, much harder. He chuckles and traces my bottom lip with his tongue. "What are you...hnng, what _the fuck are you insinuating?_"

Shizuo chuckles and doesn't say a word more. I am filled to the brim with self loathing, with general hatred. The color red clouds my vision, pisses me off beyond belief.

I can't focus, I'm slipping in this ridiculous rendezvous, slipping on the white nothingness, the bliss that fills me. His warm hand, his comforting grasp, his thumb sliding teasingly all over me. I can't handle this. I can't handle this. His hot breath on my tongue, fingers knotting tighter and tighter in my hair.

And he's getting me close, fucking close, and I'm starting to have trouble containing my screams.

And I think of all my lovely humans, and the swirling emotion that they all exude.

What emotion do _I_give off? I am a human, after all.

What do I smell like, taste like?

All the colors spiral, spiral into a loud chorus of melodic lust, love, hatred, overwhelming _need_, _want_, spite, disgust mesh together into careening song brimming on chaos. And all of that, all of it spills onto Shizu-chan's right hand, dirtying it, sullying it. And that satisfies me.

Satisfies. Me.

I am officially satiated.

He slides his hand out of my wasteband and smirks, licking it off of his digits seductively. He offers some to me, and I shake my head.

This cocky, egotistical asshole.

God, I hate him.

What does he take me for, a slut?

I take a moment to review my day. First, I trolled Namie. Then, I chatted up my online correspondent, TwinArmegeddons. Later, I went people watching and was intercepted by Shizuo, who inadvertently turned me the fuck on. Then, he chased me down and gave me a hand-job.

And that's been my day.

God, I need some sleep.

I slink away from Shizuo, flipping him off.

"So much for being the almighty Izaya _Orihara_, eh?" he says this at a reasonable volume, but for some reason it echoes loudly in my head. "Well, this proves it. You're just a normal guy. Just like all the rest of us."

Normally, I would have some witty retort for him, or some cheekily clever thing to say, but I'm pretty drained.

All my people, all my minions, how can I be a proper God to them when I can't even stay strong enough to ignore this brute?

Fucking Shizu-chan.

Eroding my self control and reminding me of my pathetic humanity. He's devolving me.

I. God, I just fucking hate what he does to me. He _turns me back into a normal person.  
_  
A _normal_person.

I can feel Shizuo watching me, but this time, I ignore him.

Let's pretend this never happened.

Okay?

This. This shit? Never. Happened.

Got it?

Great.

Great.

But just between you and me...

I sort of hope this won't be the last time we engage in hate-fueled tomfoolery.

Because even though my thighs are sticky with my own fluids and my throat feels raw from yelling...

I'm way more calm than I've been in awhile.

And _that_is why I fucking.

Hate.

That _stupid.  
_  
Guy.

He fucks with my head, makes me unsure of who I am, because he strips me of everything I know myself to be. Cool-headed, intelligent, inhuman, sadistic. He turns me into _this_, this fucking sloppy _kid_who could never possibly fancy himself a god, a kid who thinks it's horrible what he's doing to Masaomi Kida, a kid who hates himself, a kid who hates what he is, hates what he does, what he's turned into.

A kid who wants to throw shit and cry.

Because he doesn't know who he is.

But that's not me.

It's not. Shizuo Heiwajima and I aren't in love. I know my place. I know who I am.

I know what I am.

We all know what I am. And I will never be anything but this.

* * *

**Well. That's that. I don't know. I'm pretty sure I'm done with that...Unless you know, anybody actually seriously **_**wants**_** a second part. o_o**

**Yeah. But, um, if you liked it (or even if you didn't) there's a review link, right down there.  
**  
**So PLEASE REVIEW. I DON'T KNOW WHY, BUT IT MAKES ME GIDDY.  
**  
**So yes, I hope you enjoyed(?) this, and if you actually endured the whole thing, drop an opinion~! Byeeee~~!**


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